


A Tale of Cautionary Tales

by BlueHedgehog, Verdin



Series: This Too Shall Pass [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, But There Is Some Here, Captivity, Clone Sex, Clones, Creepy Ardyn, Double Penetration, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Facials, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Illusions, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Oral Sex, Poor Prompto, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Contain Spoilers, The Comfort Is Mostly In the Next Installment, Torture, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueHedgehog/pseuds/BlueHedgehog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: After Noct's disappearance, Ardyn once again takes a hold of the sunshine boy and gives him a lesson. Or two.FFXV Kink meme fill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt goes like this, and we'll see how this will turn out:
> 
> "Prompto is in restraints at Zegnautus Keep, and Ardyn tries to break him. To help with that, he brought some of the clones from the first MT production facility along.
> 
> Before he lays a single finger on Prompto, he shows him all the things he is going to do to him on these (mindless? maybe not so mindless?) test tube doubles of himself. It's gruesome (as gruesome as you like), but - as Ardyn emphasizes - they're not human, so no harm done, right? Oh wait, you're the same.
> 
> Seeing them actually moving and breathing without any mechanical parts, the idea is a lot harder to push away.
> 
> \+ the clones understand just enough to be terrified  
> ++ ... but can't speak  
> +++++ mixing it all with some of Ardyn's illusions  
> +++++++++ rescue and immediate aftermath  
> !!++++++++++++!! long term stuff, dealing with this and Noct's disappearance in the World of Ruin"
> 
> The juicy bits will start after chapter 1.
> 
> ~
> 
>  _Word of warning for BlueHedgehog readers:_  
>  This is definitely not my usual fare, as you can see from the archive warnings alone. I'm as surprised as you are.  
> *sideglance at Verdin*  
> Do proceed with caution.

Home. He was home.

At least he had told him so often enough, and Ardyn wondered if the stupid little boy would understand this time. He had dragged an office chair into the lab, something that was strictly forbidden, but so was locking out the lab techs from one of the rooms with the clone tanks. He was kind enough to leave a note at the door, telling them this was private and chancellor business, so there was no need to worry, and he even drew a smiley with a hat beneath the words, for somebody in HR had told him the staff was scared of him.

The devil was in the details.

Now he sat on the chair like on a throne, drank coffee and waited for the skinny boy in the hospital gown to wake up. Again he had him strapped to a stretching rack, for he looked so adorable when he was desperate, and just watched his laboured breathing. New scratches and bruises in the blue light of the tanks, and the little lines in the pale skin were just a little deeper. The first stay here had taken its toll, and so had the loss of his one true love.

Absent-mindedly he petted the blond stubble of the naked MT that huddled up to his leg. He just freed it from its tank, and while it already could follow easy orders, the world was still a big and scary place.

Prompto, up on the rack, wished he didn’t remember a thing.

It would have been easier, opening his eyes to disorientation and confusion, having to adjust to the light and then, slowly, realising that he was injured, and tied down, and near naked. It would have been so much easier than coming to and recognizing the light filtering through his eyelids, and the hum of the tanks, and knowing who brought him here. It would have eased him from dread to fear to terror, instead of just dropping him into the deep end. It would have left him too busy gathering his bearings, surveying aches and pains, to wonder about the small, keening noise he heard here and there. It sounded familiar.

Prompto didn’t open his eyes. He wasn’t eager to find out what was going to happen next.

“Haven’t you done enough?” he heard himself whimper. The voice was his own, but it did not stem from him.

“Ah, my dear boy, I am delighted to see you too. Didn’t it feel like an eternity without me?”

“Oh, how I missed you, my King…” The same voice, full of longing and tears now, and then a raspy laughter.

Ardyn was feeling very much like himself today, without any need to keep up the usual veneer. He had borrowed a shirt and a lab coat from the clothing store. Getting blood out of his layers tended to be a piece of work, and he liked the way the ethereal blue tinted the white fabric. It was a merciful twilight in here. The MTs weren’t bred to endure the light, and there was no need to cause them more discomfort then necessary.

Prompto did not want to confirm where that voice came from. _What_ that voice came from. Keeping his eyes closed wasn’t helping, though. His ears provided him with more than enough to make chills run down his spine, and that meant he couldn’t feign unconsciousness, either – there was no way Ardyn didn’t see it.

“I miss him too, you know?” That sounded sober, not like an actor trying to entertain an invisible audience with grandiose gestures. “Your dear little Noct, I mean. One grows accustomed to him quite easily.”

 _Noct is gone_. The one thing his hazy mind had mercifully not provided him with immediately. Noct was gone, and to say that he missed him would have been wrong in the same way it would have been wrong to call an abyss a pothole. Noct was gone, and Gladio and Ignis were somewhere out there in the Dark. They would not even notice that he was gone until he didn’t show up at their meeting on... What day was it, anyway? _Calm down. Calm. Down._

Prompto closed his hands to tight fists, as much as he could. The left wouldn’t close completely, and the attempt sent a sharp sting up his arm. He hissed, and the inhale sent another wave of pain through his side. So much for trying to get his breathing under control.

“Come here.” Ardyn commanded softly, patting his knee, and the MT followed like a good boy. The chair creaked a little as its lithe frame sat down, and the chancellor pulled it to his chest, cradling it like a child, caressing the immaculate skin. The creature shivered and closed its eyes a little. It had no category in his presets for the sensation it was experiencing.

“How is my golden boy today? I presume you already felt better, but then, you also could be dead. I am well aware that option is ever present in your head.”

Prompto had no answer to that. For all his quips, he could be irritatingly tongue-tied when he was in real distress. There was no way he would just openly answer that question, either, as if Ardyn had nothing to do with his situation. He decided to just glare at him instead. Glaring, though, required finally opening his eyes, and what he saw knocked his plan right over.

“You wished for it, didn’t you? The gun at your head, trembling too much to pull the trigger, afraid of the dark.” Ardyn’s fingers mimicked a gun at the MT’s temple, black eyes with golden irises holding the boy’s bloodshot blue ones, but then his hand sank down, and he planted a kiss on its smooth forehead.

Not only wished it – been there, almost done that, not all that long ago. Prompto’s eyes were fixed on the thing that wore his face. The resemblance was uncanny if you didn’t know how it came to be, and if you did, it was the differences that made it eerie. Too pale. Too _new_.

And it was smiling. Not the always slightly forced smile Prompto wore in most pictures, but the mindless, blessed smile of a newborn in its sleep.

“It must be nice not to understand enough to be scared, or to be lonely.” One of Ardyn’s hands glided over the pallid skin, eliciting a tiny sigh from its lips. “Once the loneliness gets to you, it never goes away, does it?”

A slight hum as the AC units started up. The man Prompto knew would have smiled a sardonic smile now, but there was nothing but a slight twitch of his lips, utterly not amused.

If he had to summarise the whole scene, his own position included, his description by all means should have been: _this is wrong_ , but Prompto could not wholeheartedly say that this was what it came down to. The world was ending, and he was about to die – very likely die horribly – where he was born, with a guileless carbon copy of himself sitting in the chancellor’s lap, too young to know any better. It was oddly fitting, ending up like this.

“Coerl’s got your tongue? Ah, no. Of course not. You learned from your chef, all silence and stern stares. How disappointing. Didn’t think he’d be the one to break your spirit.”

Prompto’s voice was raspy enough to make him wonder how long he had not used it.  
“Leave him out of this.” Of course Ardyn would not, why would he, but he felt it needed to be said.

The bastard smiled, and seemed weirdly nostalgic. Had he ever tried to count the times somebody said that to him from a sense of false bravado? He leaned his head against that of the thing on his lap and closed his eyes.

“Or what, my dearest boy? You will kill me? Or make an offer I can’t refuse, for it’s way too interesting?”

“Nah, I got nothing. It’s just what you say, right?”

“Oh, just another misunderstanding among the countless we had.” He gently pulled the MT’s face towards his, planted a kiss on those unused lips. Its blue eyes flew open. This was _new_.  
“I always gave a fair chance to those who tried to struggle, but I never could help those who gave up on themselves. So let us try again, shall we?”

Prompto tried looking at a point above and behind Ardyn, but the sight of the other clones, suspended in their tanks, wasn’t that much better than what was happening right in front of him.  
The game was a different one than last time. Last time, Ardyn had wanted Noct, and Prompto had been entertaining means to that end – no matter what he did or did not do. There was nobody Ardyn was luring, this time, not as far as he could tell, and he had just laid down the rules. If playing along bought him time, that was what he was going to do. Maybe the week already _was_ through, maybe they already _did_ miss him.

“... right. Let’s.” Prompto turned the wrist of his good hand as far as he could. He was expected to struggle, anyway, so there was no additional harm in actually testing the bonds. “What do you want?”

To his astonishment, the restraints that held him in place were not as seriously in place as they could be. Tight enough to hold him, yes, but lose enough to give him some leeway.

“Oh, that’s easy, but it always is. I will put it in a way you’ll understand, if you don’t mind. Would you like some coffee first?”

Some wiggle room was great, but room to wiggle was all it was for now. “I would,” he replied. “But I’m a bit tied up.” He almost winced at his own line, even under the circumstances. _Clever, Prompto. So clever._

His captor laughed. It was only a little noise of amusement, but it was more than the groans that usually came from everybody else. “You can trade places with him, if you want to hold your cup yourself.”

There was no sane reason for Prompto to decline, not really. Any feasible escape plan started with not being tied down, and even if that did not work out, at least he would have _some_ latitude.  
There was quite the number of not-so-sane reasons to decline, though, like the idea of that scumbag touching him. It made his stomach churn, but that wasn’t what made him hesitate. The clone was very, very clearly sentient. It just felt _wrong_ to make this decision at the expense of someone – something... someone... who... that... _Gods_.

The scumbag rose, the creature still in his arms, carrying it with the ease one would carry a pet, and ambled over to him, standing close enough that Prompto could feel the heat emitting from the MT’s body. Its big blue eyes were fixated on him now, a slight movement in its smooth features indicated something like recognition, and it stretched out its hand, touching his cheek, his neck. So very light, so very careful, like the down feathers of a chocobo chick.

“Very light and very sweet, I suppose?” Ardyn’s velvety voice seemed to come from very far away.

Somewhere in a corner of his mind, Prompto saw the trap, understood what was happening, and tried to not let it. If he recognized the MT as a human being, as _he_ instead of _it_ , Ardyn could make use of that to hurt him. Somewhere closer to the surface, the trap had already snapped shut.

The feeling of wrongness persisted, settled in his bones.

“Thanks.” He could hear his voice crack even through the ringing in his ears. “I’m good.”

 _“Do_ tell if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable.” A radiant smile, the smile of a saviour, of a hero of the people. It could not banish the black from his eyes. “If you do not feel like talking, do you wish to hear a story? Just to pass the time.”

The creature’s hand had remained on Prompto’s jugular notch, feeling the stranger’s heartbeat with a sense of wonder and trembling fingers, like it just discovered a thing of utmost, delicate beauty.

Prompto couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Sure,” he croaked. As long as Ardyn talked, he was less likely to get bored, and to do worse.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Imagine a time long before this. When they days were long and tinted in gold, and the night sky was as endless as Shiva’s mercy. Imagine a time where all these little toys here, all your phones and cameras and shiny technical gimmicks were nothing but a fever dream.” He sat down on the chair again, the creature still in his arms.

“It was a time when a king was as close to the Six as he could be, and as revered as they were. You wonder why they don’t help you in your times of need? Why it needs someone like Noct and his little girlfriend to make something happen, and why it’s always too little, too late?” His voice was the melodic singsong of an experienced storyteller, and his hands started moving over the thing’s pallid skin again, its chest, the flat tummy – no stretch marks here, just smooth surface –, and finally, between its thighs. The thing made a tiny whelp as the sensitive zone there was discovered, and its blue eyes danced between the older man and those other blue eyes that had seen so much.

“You know, my dear boy, I always wondered why your father was so bent to create a working replica of himself in every aspect. Human vanity, probably, but now it is a present fit for a king, don’t you think?”

Prompto’s jaw was moving before his brain – still busying itself with _this is wrong this is wrong_ – had the time to kick into gear. “Hey, it’s pretty obvious you like them young, but... _really?”_ Never mind that to the eyes, this was a fully grown man. Never mind that’s what he himself looked like. Especially never mind that.

“This, my dear boy, is what you are made for. To serve your King, in war as in love.” The MT’s cock grew under his hands, and little moans punctuated Ardyn’s words. “And you, sweet Prompto, did both quite magnificently. This is where you and your brethren find their highest fulfillment. Not as an equal, but as a sheathe for their sword.”

Prompto closed his eyes. The display in front of him was the last thing he needed to see. “That’s not what it is.”

“And what do you think it is, my golden boy? Love at first sight the moment you met, you down in the dirt, he towering above you?” The creature didn’t taste like anything in particular as he gently bit into its neck. Maybe a bit of salt. Too clean.

“What do I think it is?” Prompto turned his head up as if to look at the ceiling. He closed his fist again. Just the right hand this time – he had learned. “Well, first of all, it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, I know this is hard, but allow me to assist. Let’s go over the things you know, shall we? You were created. A flawed masterpiece. You got _lost_ and ended up, by total accident, on the same school as certain young prince. You...” A short pause as the creature lost itself and came with a sweet sigh over Ardyn’s hand. He wiped it clean on his lab coat and continued his caresses.

“Where was I? Ah, yes. You did everything to please him, just because it felt so right to do so, and it feels so right to bow down for him and take all he’s got for you, doesn’t it?” The dark honey in his voice dripped down into Prom’s brain, making it sticky.

“Not true,” Prompto said, trying not to think all that much about the words. They struck a chord, though, of course they did. He shook his head. It did nothing to clear it.

“Then pray, tell thy truth. I’ll be happy to learn.“

“It doesn’t matter. That he’s the prince. Never did.” Also not true. It did matter – just not in the way Ardyn framed it. Prompto had been over this, time and again. He was a person. He made his own decisions. His feelings were genuine. It could not be like that.

“Ah, so once again no reason to thank this sad old man for all his work.” He pursed his lips under the stubble, lifted up the cloned boy again and carried him to one of the desks, where papers and folders were scattered in an order that only made sense to the owner, if at all.

A deep kiss, not violent, tongues intertwined. The creature learned fast, and it made no noise as he pushed it back on the desk, hand too tight around its throat, and as it lay wheezing, its hands moved down to its cock, pumping, unwilling to let the pleasant feelings stop.

“As I was saying, my dear boy, a story. Are you willing too listen?”

The sounds made Prompto wince. His fist kept opening and closing, the movement was almost involuntary now – he never could hold still for too long, especially under pressure, and right now, that was his only outlet.

 _T_ _his is wrong this is wrong…_ The thought came with a wave of nausea. He swallowed it down.

"Not going anywhere."

Another well known sound. Somebody spitting into a hand, then he heard himself gasping in surprise, then a change in the way he, no _it_ , was breathing, trying to open up for what was coming into an opening always too tight to enter, then, a small eternity later, a delighted grunt as the clone boy was filled to the brim.

“As I said, my sweet boy. Imagine the sunshine on your skin. You remember the sun, don’t you? The warmth soaking through your bones...”

As the man spoke, Prompto could feel it. The delicious heat on his skin, a smooth cold floor under his feet. The smell of incense filling his head. He could see the delicate network of veins in his eyelids, an experience as red and bright and long lost like a summer’s day.

He gasped, and his hand stilled for a moment, palm open and fingers trembling.  
Prompto did remember the sun, and warmth that didn’t come from heaters or fires, but the memory had been starting to grow vague – much more so than he liked to admit. It had been more than a year since their last sunset. The transition from the ice forming in the pit of his stomach to the illusion of heat on his skin was all the more sudden and startling for that.

“Care to join me for a walk?” Izunia was close to him now, and he sounded different. Still honey and smoke, but not so gravelly and bitter with the weight of centuries.

Slowly, Prompto dared open his eyes. The lab was gone, replaced by a temple of sorts. White polished marble, sturdy columns holding a ceiling filled with frescoes of the Six in their eternal round dance, and it was flooded by light, tinting everything gold. Prompto found himself on a pedestal among a row of statues in dramatic poses, his hospital gown replaced by a white linen tunic, crisp and clean on his skin. His injuries and aches were only a distant echo somewhere in the back of his head.

A young man stood before him, offering his hand. He was around Prompto’s own age, his long dark hair flowing over his shoulders in elegant waves. For a moment he mistook him for Noct, but the amber eyes and the wry smile gave him away.

There were people here, bringing offerings and praying, flowers and gold and meat placed carefully before ornate altars, incense burning in brass holders.

Prompto did not move, and he did not take the hand. “What is this?”

“The past. Memories. What I have been, so terribly long ago. It was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

He was right. This place _was_ beautiful, bristling with life and belief and an amount of energy, of _magic_ , that even Prompto could feel, and Ardyn was as beautiful, as immaculate as this place. In his simple clothes with his naked feet he looked more regal than any man on a throne could, and Prom saw the people that noticed him bow down deep in respect.

“Yeah.” The illusion was stunning. It was hard to disagree, harder even to believe that he was not really here. Something about the perfection of it all didn’t sit right with him, but Prompto could not quite put his finger on it. _T_ _his is wrong this is wrong…_

“It may be easier to explain some things here. Show, don’t tell as they say in theatre. And more _comfortable_ for you, when you’re not so busy avoiding everything.” His hand still outstretched. An invitation.

Everything here was so far removed from being strapped down, from the choking thing on the desk, and the screaming part of his own mind – _this is wrong this is wrong_ – that the connection between this face, this hand, and what waited back in reality, was loose at best. It was a dream, nothing more, and the man in front of him barely looked like Ardyn at all. Prompto took his hand.

A smile, and a slight bow. He led him graciously, their hands slightly raised, like a couple on their way to the dancefloor, opening the grand ball. Many eyes followed them, and Ardyn was all smiles and nods and waves, and as he looked at his guest, his smile dropped, and there was nothing but fatigue.

“They prayed to me once. A god among men. You know that, and you don’t believe, do you, that one like me could ever have even been trying to stop them from becoming the darkness, and yet, I did everything in my power to at least try.”

Deeper into the temple they went, into a round room under a cupola. No windows here, only golden braziers that bathed the bare walls in a coppery glow. In the middle of the room a young man hung from a chain that vanished through an hole in the ceiling, surrounded with the flames of a gilded sun.

His arms were bound over his head, his limber body tense, and even in this light Prompto could see the blackness swirling under his skin. White fabric was draped over his head, shielding at least his face from view.

“Yet some of them were beyond saving...”

A dream. A strange and disturbing dream, but a dream nonetheless. None of this was real. Prompto let go of Ardyn’s hand again and stepped closer. "What happened here?”

“I knew I was made to control the Starscourge when I was but a child. Nobody ever told me. I just knew. The way I did it was to...” He stepped beside his companion and laid his hands on the blackened skin, right where the heart was beating. Oily beads started oozing through the pores, rushing towards Ardyn’s hand, collecting there, sinking in. His fingers were trembling, just a bit, and he lowered his hand again.

“I took it in me. They came, and they asked me for help, and I helped them the only way I knew. But sometimes, they were gone too far, their soul too tainted to continue being in this world, and then...”

A red glow as a dagger manifested in his hand. He reached for the cloth above the hanging man’s head, drew it down and looked at him, looked into those eyes flooded with black and hate, looked at the black fog that marked every breath, looked at a face so much like Prompto’s, distorted and barely human anymore, and planted a tender kiss on his brow. A goodbye.

The cut across his throat was quick and practiced, as was the one down sternum and stomach, opening him up. A sick gurgling and a bestial roar as inky things forced themselves through the cuts, raging against the one that dared to disturb them.

Ardyn was down on his knees now, down at the feet of the dying man, his arms lifted like in prayer, his white tunic only a heap of fabric on the floor, and the obsidian mass streamed down onto him, engulfing him whole.

Not real. None of this was real. Prompto had to hold on to that, because looking at his own twisting face, seeing the knife slice through, smelling infected guts spill out onto the floor... and amidst all of that Ardyn, fashioning himself as a savior…

He only registered that he had screamed when he heard it echo, not from the stone of temple walls, but steel and glass.

The memory faded, bit by bit. His scream had broken the spell, or his captor had allowed it to be broken. The last bit of the vision that faded was the face of the hanging man, the darkness draining from his eyes, leaving nothing but peace.

In this world, Ardyn was on his chair again, the clone on its knees before him, eagerly cleaning his master’s cock. He had a fresh cup of coffee and a expression of mild distaste for being interrupted so rudely.

Hardly a better sight. Prompto tried to get his breathing under control – too fast, now, and painful. He only remembered that something was wrong with his ribs now that the sensation had been dulled for a while. It gave him something to focus on, though. Ribs. Left hand. What else? Knock to the head, at some point. That sure was not helping him keeping things together. Leg, also left. The throbbing went hip to ankle, and he could not tell where it originated. A fracture, maybe? His knee? He had not noticed the injury before now at all, and for a moment this confused him more than anything else, enough to make his head swim. _This is wrong this is wrong…_

“They never told me what I should have done. Your _Gods_. Only demanding sacrifice, not even giving back most of the time. And then daring to _punish me_!” Prompto had never heard him so angry, and the clone boy was cowering on the floor, whimpering softly. A little wave of Ardyn’s hand, and it hurried over to the prisoner, trying to find comfort at the worst side to give any. Its naked body was so warm against his leg. Prompto could not help yelling out. Broken. That leg was definitely broken. He could feel the bone shifting below the knee where the clone leaned in.

“The thing is, my sweet golden boy, as the Six grew accustomed to your sacrifices, to your worship, so did yours truly. And it’s so hard to quit an addiction, especially when it’s so satisfying.” He saw no need to cover himself, and not only in height was he similar to Gladio.

“I will show you how the Gods want to be worshipped. How you make them listen. Maybe your little king can get some use out of you yet.”

The pain was still preferable to the preview of his immediate future Prompto's brain so vividly provided him with. “And here I was,” he managed to grind out between his teeth. “Considering to feel sorry for you for all of five seconds.” _Oh Gods, stop talking._ “Should have kept it down to three.”

Izunia got up, coffee still in hand, closing the buttons on his lab coat with the other.

“You may spare a thought for the man I once was. He’s long gone. Sacrifices, in the end, even him. But you’re doing decent up to now.” He nodded approvingly. “Do you mind if I help you a bit with that? You’ll have a hard time running this way.”

“Oh, you want me to run?” A quick nervous laugh, ending in a pained groan. “Maybe should have thought about that before you, you know, broke my leg.” _Shut up, you’re making it worse._

“I don’t want to keep you from running in the end, dear boy. How hard the time until then will be is…”, he set the cup to Prompto’s lips, the coffee in it hot and dark and fragrant, the same beans Ignis used if he had any possibility to get them, “… completely up to you.”

Prompto found himself complying too easily. The alternatives were very likely a lot less pleasant, and unfortunately pleasant this was. The coffee smelled and tasted like camp nights, like early mornings, back when the sun still rose. It smelled and tasted like _home_. It was so simple, and it hurt so much.

Ardyn watched him drink, lowering the cup as he had enough, and, strangely enough, did not attempt to touch him.

“Do you want me to take the pain in your leg away, dear Prompto? I may be a bit rusty, but I trust myself enough to do this. Not as elegant as I used to do it, but…”

The pain had been something to focus on, only a moment ago, before his world had narrowed down to coffee and salt and everything he missed. Now it was just pain. Prompto hated the idea of it – Ardyn’s ‘help’ was an ugly, two-edged thing at the best of times – but he did not hate it enough to decline. He nodded.

“Say ‘Yes, master’”, he said, all serious, already kneeling down on the floor, setting his cup aside, but then chuckled before his captive could protest. Only now Prom really parsed the words that were printed on the pottery. _World’s worst boss_.

“Close your eyes and be a brave boy. I know you already are.”


	3. Chapter 3

Prompto decided to be a brave boy, but he also decided to watch. Watch as Ardyn laid his hands upon his left leg, heavy lids half-closed over amber eyes, watch a soft glow emitting under his palms, and watch as blackness dribble in oily drops on his skin, Ardyn mutter something like an excuse, and then he was trying again, and the light was faint and flickering, but it was there, and it was like the sun in his sore muscles, in the knee that felt so wrong and painful and strangely loose, and he felt as the pieces knitted themselves together again, taught by an unseen advisor.

The scumbag at his feet seemed in some kind of trance. The ever animated, grimacing face so very still, so serene, his hooded gaze somewhere beyond this realm.

Relief and warmth were not words that Prompto connected to this man, never thought he would – and yet, here they were. He could not quite find a place for that concept in his mind, and so he had to roll it around a bit, look at it from a few angles. It took more than just a few seconds, and somewhere in the middle of the process, he found himself thanking Ardyn Izunia.

The face between the wine-dark hair had taken on a sweaty sheen. Doing something _nice_ after all those years seemed to take a toll on the fallen king, and by now he was not sure what he was trying to prove. There were other, easier ways to set this boy’s bones, but bathing in these memories, going back to places when he could smile because he was simply happy, had made him a tad nostalgic. He usually never allowed that to happen when witnesses were present, but he had gotten this far, and the end was at hand. He could allow himself some leeway. He had been rather successful up until now, after all. Prompto was staring, shaky and clearly conflicted.

It felt so right, and Lucis Caelum was back in those days, when they were in awe of him, not in terror. The glow washed over his body, connecting him and his patient for two precious heartbeats, illuminating his face. He marvelled that there still was a tiny spark left, and his mind was floating in golden light… until the daemons caught up.

Prompto saw those hands on his leg drop, cramp up, and suddenly the black ooze was spilling out of them, flooding over Ardyn’s body, throwing him to the ground where he landed with a desperate groan, and them sinking back into him, leaving inky traces where his skin showed.

It took a few moments before his captor inhaled deeply, coughed and blinked, his eyes still amber, but all those little veins tinted with coal. He picked himself up, reached for his cup with shaking hands and took a big gulp.

It shouldn’t have been any of Prompto’s concern. Perhaps as a chance to try and break out of his restrains, if it had lasted any longer, but not…

The MT was still hanging on to his leg, eyes wide and uncomprehending. He had no clue what was going on here, and right now, Prompto understood all too well how he felt. Of course, one injury less was a good thing, and ’thanks’ did not hurt anyone, right? Even if everything about this was still so, so twisted. Even if it was all Ardyn’s fault. Noct, Luna, Ignis, the Dark, the daemons, the deaths. Even if everything about the look on his face set off alarm bells in his head. If he could only _think_ enough to plan more than ten seconds ahead.

_This is wrong this is wrong…_

What he heard himself say was, “That... looked nasty.”

“And this is why we can’t have nice things.” He was back to smirking again. “Feeling better, are we?”

“Yeah…” And just like that, the moment was over.

This was not going to end well.

“Yeah…” Ardyn repeated in Prompto’s voice. He got up, and stared at the two clone boys huddled together. Resignation washed over his face, turning into anger, and he struck out. His mug went flying, and the boys tried to duck for cover, even though it was not aimed for them.

The impact on one of the tanks resulted in a cracking sound he found immensely satisfying. For some reason, the mug survived, losing only its handle, but a spiderweb of tears spread over the tube. In the shocked silence, it sounded like a frozen lake breaking under the feet of an unsuspecting walker.

A blink of an eye, and it collapsed under the pressure inside. Gravity ripping out all wires tubes, the clone slipped to the floor, sliding through the shattered glass. Lay perfectly still for a moment, red blood mixing with blue liquid. Then a deep breath, and attempt to move, to get still unfamiliar limbs under control.

Ardyn was over it in a heartbeat, not even taking the detour of _walking_ there, just appearing. One knee on its chest, pushing down hard, and hit him in the face with his flat hand, again and again and again. The daemons were around him like a halo, like the wings of an enormous raven created of night sky. Their darkness was like a hole in Prompto’s vision, and it hurt his eyes. The clone boy was clinging to him, crying.

The creature on the floor did not even attempt defend itself. Its skin broke, and blood, bright and red and oh-so-human, painted its face, splattering the white clothing of the demon above it, mixed with that horrible, living black that crept over everything, that streamed from Ardyn’s face like tears and saliva. The demon’s face showed pure delight.

Every slap jerked the clone’s head around, and the cracking of the delicate bones in the spine seemed louder than everything else.

The one Ardyn had woken earlier was screaming and wailing, both hands digging into Prompto’s gown, trying to duck away under his bound arm. Prompto himself was shaking, gagging with every snapping bone, tearing at his bonds, not paying the black spots dancing in his vision any mind, not even thinking anymore, just trying to get _away_.

Eventually, there wasn’t much of a face left to hit.

The monster sat still for a moment, listened. Then it cocked its head and stood up. Movements that were not human, but a boiling, rolling mass that somehow managed to move the man it inhabited. Slow steps towards the boys, dripping and oozing and covering the pristine lab in itself. It came to a halt mere inches from Prom’s body, the face he knew and grew to hate so close to his, and as he felt sticky sweetness on his skin, there were the amber eyes again, just for the length of a breath, and they were tired, so tired.

“Let me die...” a breathless whisper in Ardyn’s voice.

Then it was black and gold again, and the boy tasted the monster’s lips on his own, and they tasted like decay and molasses, with just a hint of coffee.

Prompto had kept struggling until that very last moment – at the touch, he simply froze. He still could not think, was all instinctual responses, and he could neither fight nor flee. Playing dead it was, then. Down at Ardyn’s feet, the surviving clone was still screaming, and then…

Then there was silence.

Prompto’s body reacted before his conscious thoughts returned. Smooth skin upon his own, a body so close and warm, hands investigating, trying out things they just learned, clumsy and gentle and full of fear.

The two boys were adrift in the dark, a bottomless sea. Maybe this was death, the afterlife, and he was alone with himself, only that the Six had never planned for being more of the same person. Maybe the others were here, all those of his brothers that... Warm lips, so much like his own, displaced the thought.

It did not return, nor did any other notion beyond _here_ and _now_ , his mind mercifully blank. He held on, gave back all he received and more. It did not matter whose comfort it was for – he could not tell where he ended and the other began. They where the same.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When he returned, no, when his mind returned, he was still in the lab, with his brother at his feet. With one of the tanks destroyed, it had become even darker in here. Their blue reverberation mercifully only insinuated how utterly destroyed the clone on the floor was, and the AC did its part to fight the stench of blood and lost life.

The boys were alone.

Prompto blinked. The illusion still echoed, everything was slightly off, and it took him a long moment to form a coherent thought: _Move. You have to move_.

His limbs and chest were tied down, but the restraints were removed easily enough if you had at least one hand free - leather straps and buckles. He only had one good hand, though, so dislocating his thumb to pull it out was, if at all, a last resort option. He wouldn't be able to use the other to set it, and not much was gained from two useless hands.

 _Think_.

He looked down to his side. "Hey... Hey, buddy. Can you understand me?" He had to understand something, to follow Ardyn's... orders. The clone nodded.

"Do you know how to open these?" He got the expected head shake in return, and yet, something had changed in the unused face. A slight wrinkling in the brows. The clone was _thinking_. After a little while, he got up, walked around a bit in the gloom, searching, and finally returned with a shard of glass. He was not programmed for complex things like tying laces or opening buckles, but the use of weapons was ingrained in his system. He had wrapped some sheets of paper around the sharp edges as a makeshift handle, and he started sawing through the leather. It would take a while, but it seemed to work.

When his right hand was free, Prompto started undoing the restraint at his left. The clone watched, then copied him - he had a sharp learning curve, that much was clear. In no time, he was opening the buckles around Prompto's chest and ankles as if he had known how to do it all along.

Prompto slid to the floor. Despite his restored knee, standing was still a little much.

He had to, though.

At his second attempt, a pair of arms came to his help. "Thanks."

 The lab door opened easily enough to the barcode on his apparent twin's wrist, to very familiar corridors. Zegnautus Keep. A wave of dizziness hit him, the world tilting to the side for a moment.

_This is wrong this is wrong..._

The arms around his back tightened. Prompto shook his head. Whatever this was, it could wait. They needed to get out of here, quickly.

They almost stumbled over the first body that lay in their way. A MT in full armor, neatly halved, intestines spilling on the floor. Dead eyes were staring through the mask. Blue. He was still warm.

Over there was another one, one leg separated, his throat slit.

They hadn't gotten very far, only two junctions of corridors, and suddenly were in the middle of a warzone. The clone was very silent now, crouching down. He salvaged his fallen comrades rifle and shot a questioning gaze at Prom, slightly lifting the thing in his hands.

Prompto had ducked behind a corner, legs shaky, but holding him for now. He screwed his eyes shut for a second, fighting down another dizzy spell.

_This is wrong this is wrong..._

He swallowed it down, nodded, and went for the second rifle on the ground. Better if they both had one. He desperately hoped he would not need to fire it. With his ribs being what they were, he'd probably just pass out from the recoil.

They kept close to the walls, trying to stay in cover, at least as much as one could in these empty hallways. Peering around corners, finding more bodies, more expressionless masks with empty blue eyes. Whoever came through here had not hesitated to kill, and to kill fast. Barely a shot had been fired, and most of the MTs had been taken by surprise. Deep cuts in their backs.

In places, the bigger blade had grazed the walls, left its mark there. Deep scratches and crushed bones.

The trail of destruction looked familiar. _Gladio. Please let it be Gladio_.

Things were going to get very complicated very quickly if it was, though. Prompto made his best attempt at making the encounter a little safer. "If you see a really big guy with long hair and a sword - stay in cover, and don't shoot. You got that?"

The clone nodded. Cover and hold fire, he knew.

"He's a friend, we need to find him."

A look of confusion, then another nod. Locate, he knew, too.

Corner, another corner, and if Prompto did not know this was _the enemy_ , it would have been mindless slaughter. Those creatures were no opposition, not at all, and it was the first time he found their remains instead of just hurrying away after a won battle. In the sun, they just vanished into sparkling dust after a while, but in this lightless place, they remained. If it really were Gladio and Ignis, they would at least not suffer long.

The clone peeked around a wall, hidden behind a potted plant, and lifted his hand. Hold it. A little wave to come closer.

Prompto smelled it before they saw them. The powerful waft of fresh coffee, Ebony beans.

A rest area with seats and vending machines. Of course. There were humans working here, he knew this, and they were potted plants and magazines and a motivational poster and there were his friends and everything would be alright.

His knees almost buckled with relief. _Oh, thank Gods. Oh, thank you thank you thank you...!_

"Stay where you are," he all but whispered to the clone, then made noise before he turned the corner, "Iggy! Gladio! Over here!"

They stood leaned against the wall, black leather and sharp blades, taking a little break from their search, sipping coffee, and as they saw him, Iggy was all smiles, and Gladio spread his arms to welcome him.

Prompto would have run to them, if he'd had the strength. He managed in a stagger, dizzy once again.

_This is wrong this is wrong..._

"I'm _so_ happy to see you guys, like, seriously. I thought I..." His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, blinked back tears. "Just so happy to see you."

Gladio caught him in his strong arms, holding him tight, and he smelled so right. He tousled his hair, and Iggy said something, but Prompto couldn't parse it, because his head was spinning in relief. His knees gave way, and Iggy repeated it, slower, closer to his ear.

“We thought we'd find you here.”

Something about his inflection made Prompto tense. "What do you mean?"

Gladio's grip grew tighter, almost suffocating him. The pain in his ribs made the tears well up again. Ignis' voice so close to his ear now, barely a whisper, and _so cold._

“We've watched your little fling with his Highness long enough. He, in his grace, may not care for what you are, but we do. It was bad enough when you were just a commoner, a bastard child, but now, since you are not even human after all...”

The blind man inhaled deeply. His gloved hands were on Prompto's skin now, checking his flesh like a butcher the quality of a cut.

"This isn't funny." He already knew that this could not be a joke, could feel panic bubbling up. Ignis had a dry sense of humour, certainly, but this went way, way beyond it. Prompto had a rough idea what he looked like, too. Not exactly an invitation for pranks.

"Let go." He tried pushing out of Gladio's grip, but he held on easily, not giving him an inch. " _Let me go!_ "

"Do you think we don't know how you looked at his Majesty, the ideas you entertained in your unworthy little mind? You should have averted your eyes, you should have fallen to your knees and thanked him each time he even talked to you, but what did you do? So vain, and so stupid, that you really thought you were his equal. His _friend_. His _lover_."

Ignis spit in disgust, and the saliva landed on Prompto's tear-stained cheek.

“And now you come home, here, and why? Because you felt drawn here? Is it in your code? Or a you a traitor in additon, because being his whore isn't enough?”

Leather-clad hands gripping him between his thighs, hurting him.

He cried out once, and could not take in enough air to do it again. Between his injury, Gladio's crushing hold, and the sheer horror that had taken over and frozen his mind, Prompto could only breathe in quick, shallow gasps. His brain was stuck holding only one thought, compulsively repeating it again and again: _This can't be happening._

“We'll take you home, but first we'll show you what you're made for. Gladio?”

The man behind him knew exactly what to do, and he was down on the cold floor in no time, Gladio sitting on his chest, forcing his mouth open between two fingers, Ignis between his legs, spreading him, oiling him up liberally. Oil. Of course he brought godsdamn oil, and he heard Iggy's endless sermons about the right kinds of oil for the right application, and _this can't be happening._

Only now he noticed how broken and strange his hips felt, the joints stiff from the eternity on the rack, and then Gladio moved, broke some of the partially fractured ribs with his weight. A sickening crunch drowned out his world, and he screamed around the rough fingers.

Gladio's lips twisted into a grin as whipped out that horrible thing between his legs and made him choke on it, too big and too hard to bite down on, silencing his screams. First a taste of sweat and mushrooms, soon washed away by bile as Prom's stomach decided to protest. Gladio pinched the boy's nose shut, making it impossible to breathe, and while he struggled, his friend Iggy - _friend, please, this can't be happening_ \- entered him, the pain in the unprepared muscle enough to make him buckle and lift even Gladio's impossible weight for a moment, but as much as every fibre of his body tried to get away, he was caught between them.

They moved in unison, always the well-oiled machine they trained so many years to be, and his insides cramped up and he choked and Gladio - _Gladdy, why, this can't be happening_ \- was laughing and pumping down, a hand in the blond hair. He felt Ignis come. It did not stop him from continuing.

_This can't be happening._

 It dragged on forever.

_This can't be happening._

Prompto felt his body go limp, and then nothing much anymore, his mind disengaging from his body in a last, futile attempt at keeping him sane. _This can't be happening_ , but if it was happening, it was not happening to _him._

Not him, coughing and gagging when Gladio withdrew, just to come all over his face. Not him, torn and bleeding and screaming when the man, still hard, decided that Ignis and he could _share_. Not him.

With everything muted and numb, it took him far too long to register the sharp, cracking noise above him. He only made a connection when Gladio stopped moving, and fell to the side. By that time, there had already been a second shot, and Ignis went down as well.

He was by his side, he himself, that young part, naked and foaming with rage. He did not drop the gun that just blew a hole through Iggy's skull from close proximity, just shouldered it, programmed routines above all. Then he was over him, holding, dragging, trying to get his big brother, his comrade, away from the bodies of his fallen friends.

Prompto did not move. Could not feel. Did not want to think. When the other one pulled him by the wrists, tugging the left too hard, he was grateful for the darkness that rolled over him.


	5. Chapter 5

...

...

...

  


It was cold. Freezing. White frost had settled on his skin, on the hard shell around him. How long had he been here, lying in this frozen waste under a grey sky, clouds heavy with snow.

_This can't be happening._

There was no sun here, and yet is was bright, in a weird, wrong way that made his vision way too clearly defined. He turned his head, looking at his gloved hand, at the dead MT in his armor next to him, and the one behind him, and the one behind that one and...

He was wearing their armor, the helmet around his head crushed. It hurt, and there was something sticky in his hair. He rolled on his side and vomited, because the memories came back, and there was the taste a taste like fresh oysters deep in his throat and he wanted to be clean, just clean.

It didn't matter how he got here. It didn't matter how he could get away from here, either.  
  
There was nowhere left to go.

One of the other MTs moved, dragging himself along the floor, leaving a trail of blood. Still red, still perfectly human blood. ( _This is wrong this is wrong_... so quiet now, the vertigo nothing compared to the pain he felt.) Prompto looked him in the eyes, saw a spark of recognition. This was _him_.  
  
Help wasn't coming. They both knew it.  
  
For _him_ , this was it. The be-all and end-all of his existence. He could not conceive of a future beyond this point.  
  
Neither could Prompto.  
  
He still had his sidearm, and one good hand to use it.

 The other one sat up, taking great effort, fumbled with the mask, managed to take it off in the end. Blood and black oil on his forehead, and he tried to wipe it away with limp fingers. Prompto saw him looking around and followed his gaze.

A barren plain, stretching until the horizon.

The white snow spoiled by dark armors and red blood. So many of them. They lay, or sat unmoving, most of them missing limbs, others having holes where their chest should be.

The air was clear and cold enough to not smell like anything at all.

The silent blue eyes of his _friend_ fixated on him again, this only, this last bit of life in this whole world.

The only thing that cut through the pale day was the quiet scratch of a gun being removed from its holster. The snow swallowed the sound as Prompto placed it on the ground between them, looked back up, searching the other's face.

The boy pressed his lips together, and he breathed deep. A little wince of pain as he leaned forward, placing one last kiss on the other's lips. His metallic fingers touched Prom's cheek, as gently as it was the first time, when everything was strange and new and full of wonder.

The tips closed his friend's eyes, and he pushed something into his gloved hand.

Prompto heard the gun being picked up, being unlocked, being cocked.

 _“This is not happening,”_ Prompto's voice said.

  


  


Then the world ended.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The afterlife was mostly as advertised. It was dark, the pain was gone, there was silence.

Unfortunately, it also felt very much like gravel, and like sand between his teeth. He was thirsty, too. Parched, really, and hungry.

Not the afterlife, then.

 _Crap_.

Prompto curled up into a ball. Maybe if he just fell asleep here, wherever here was. Maybe if he just waited long enough.

“I would not advise to sleep there.” A woman's voice, gentle and temperate. “You'll catch a cold, or a scorpion.”

Prompto knew that voice, he was sure. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to confirm.

She sat on something that looked like a picknick blanket, completely unfazed by the night or the barren waste he found himself in. A gas cooker with a teapot, assorted little treats and Gentiana, who looked like some artist draped her there to paint some bloody piece of art. He knew and her particular sense of humor mainly from her photobombs.

Under normal circumstances, this would have looked a little surreal. Right now, it was the most sensible thing he had seen in... ages.

Prompto sighed. "Thanks for the advice." His voice was about as rough as the ground. He finally moved, surprised to find fabric when he untangled his legs and sat up. Jeans. Shoes. Shirt. All there. All the same he had worn back then, when he had set out for his last hunt. His left leg was pins and needles, but he had been lying on that side. He could breathe alright, could move both hands just fine. A few scrapes along his arms, a few half-faded bruises.

Like he had just tripped and fallen. Like nothing had happened.

A little piece of plastic in his hand, its edges rounded. Some kind of pendant or dogtag like the hunters wore it.

“I would not mind some company.” She smiled, but she always did. “There's a blanket, and a bowl of hot soup.”

"Thanks."

The blanket, Prompto took immediately. There was hardly anything right now he wanted as much as being warm and _covered_. The soup... In a moment. He looked at the tag in his hand.

_NH-01987 / 0032-3295_

The sound he made was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and he clasped his hand over his mouth almost the same instant. He was trembling, despite the blanket, when he looked up and Gentiana again. "Sorry. Just... one of those days, you know."

“I _know_.” and something about the way she said it assured him she did, and she moved towards him, pouring tea, reaching him the cup, pulling the blanket tighter around him, and then, when she was finished, the fingers of her ungloved hand touched his cheek, and it felt like a snowflake melting.

He really did not want to cry. If he started now, he would probably never stop again.

So Prompto swallowed against the lump in his throat, took the tea with another "thanks," and sipped. It washed away the dust, and the idea of another taste still lingering. "So..." he started shakily, took a breath, and continued when he trusted his voice a little more. "So what is a Goddess doing in the middle of nowhere, at this time of..." Day? Night? He looked up, but of course the sky had no answer.

“You like it?” she asked when his eyes returned to her. “It's my special-tea.” She took a sip of hers, her head cocked the tiniest bit.

Prompto huffed. It was almost a laugh. Clearly, reverence was not what she wanted. That was fine. He had practice foregoing that. "Your jokes are almost as bad as the faces you pull in some of my pictures." He gave her a fairly decent attempt at a smile. "The tea is amazing. Thanks again."

“I am waiting for two lost children. To answer your question. But they finally came.”

Whatever had been in that tea, it felt soothing to his insides, a glass of milk after spicy food, and she smiled and looked at him with those eyes like jade, and there was the slightest hint of sorrow, if something like that was even an option for her.

Prompto nodded. Then he remembered something, took another deep breath. "I haven't seen you since then, so... I guess now is as good as any time: I'm sorry about Luna."

“Don't be. As she doesn't have to be to keep you waiting.” She closed her eyes, opened them again. It was way too slow to consider it blinking.

"I wish I'd met her." It wasn't a pleasant topic, either, but steering the conversation in that direction meant heading away from what had just happened.

“Just be patient.” A slight breeze played with her ink-black strands. “There will be a day.”

The sound of a gun being picked up, being unlocked, being cocked. Prompto closed his eyes. "Yeah. One day."

“I came to make you an offer before you leave. Are you willing to listen?”

"Least I can do."

“You know how it feels to be lost in the snow. You remember well how comfortable you felt after you gave up. How it was warm and cozy. Do you remember?”

All too well. He pulled the blanket tighter. "Yeah. I remember."

“Let me offer you to hold you while you sleep. It will be warm, and cozy, and you are so very tired.”

Prompto was suddenly very aware again of who he was talking to. "That's... I... thanks. I mean..." Deep breath, start that sentence again. "It's... a really good offer. Just... why?"

“For I could not help you there. For I may not. But I may take away the pain, and what the Fallen One wishes to leave inside your heart.” She was so calm, so _cool_ , and he winced as he thought the word.

He thought about it for a moment, really only one question on his mind. He just needed a moment to get it out without choking up. "All of it?" He already knew the answer.

She closed her eyes. Smiled. A slight shift in her position, so that somebody could lay down their head in her lap, and for a heartbeat he saw Gentiana, and he saw Shiva herself, her arms welcoming him, impossibly long braids around them, shielding them from the world like the branches of a weeping willow.

Who was he to decline this invitation? Prompto closed his eyes, and rested, and had faith in his Goddess.

...

...

...

It was warm and cozy. Soft as petals and feather down. He floated through sparkling dust, rainbows dancing through not-air, and every time a mote, a snowflake, a tiny diamond touched him, he felt a bit of memory, a bit of pain, taken away. Shiva was with him, and another one, and another one, and they were beautiful and eternal and collecting what he left behind.

When he was finished, they surrounded him, taking him along to show him.

Have him meet.

Let him rest.

...

...

...

  


_... and it ends with you..._

  


Cue strings. He hated that song. It was cheesy and Iggy tended to sing along in a terrible falsetto. He fumbled with the clock radio. Just five more minutes.

Judging from the noises outside, Hammerhead was already busy. These days, things rarely came to a rest, for there were always things to do.

Prompto's head was still foggy with sleep. He'd had the strangest dream, but damn if he knew what it had been about. What exactly was the plan for today? It was Thursday, right? Road block duty, then. And something else. He was sure he had forgotten something.

The radio started up again - something with way too much bass for the tinny speakers. He gave it a good smack, and sat up on the edge of his cot. He had forgotten something, and it was important.

He noticed something around his neck when he brushed his teeth. A little piece of clear plastic, a barcode on it, hanging from braided strands of black silk.

_A key._

The association made no sense, but he hid it under his shirt, just to avoid stupid questions.

Maybe it would come to him over coffee and breakfast.

  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "... and cut." the verdin wrote.
> 
> The hedgehog shook its spiky head. "I feel like we could do a lot more here."
> 
> "I'm all ears," said the bird.
> 
> There will be more tales of things to come, but under a new title. "A Tale of Healing", maybe? Probably not.
> 
> If you have any wishes or prompts, let us know.


End file.
